A last appeal
by Nathaniel Cornelius Caesar
Summary: GOTA Fic. Set after Vol. You, Chapter 6 with roots in Vol. You, Chapter 4. Lord John Julius' lover and friend asks for one last appeal on behalf of the accused bailiff.
1. Chapter 1

A last appeal

 _The year 299, the day one hundred and eighty nine after Aegon's Conquest (A.C), the Solar of Lord John of House Julius, Lord of Fortitudo Simplicis._

The Lord pressed his lips into a thin line as he stared at the man on the other end of the desk; for all the emotional distance which currently laid between them, it could have been the other end of the room. He stood up and motioned to the knight at his side, Ser Creel of Long Rope, to examine and affirm that his seal was firmly placed on the document. With a motion that seemed to be alike the wind, he handed the decree to Ser Jocelyn of House Moore. For once, it seemed, the house of his second wife had done something right.

"My Lord." called Maester Lucas, attempting to catch him with his eyes. His lustful, dark, sensuous eyes. Those eyes which had enraptured the Lord since their first meeting, and which on nights of passion still held their sway over his body. His voice carried a tone of pleading, mixed with the subtle purity of a lover who expected to be attended to. "Surely…you shall hear him one last appeal."

"What more would it do, sweet Lucas?" asked the Lord "I have absolved him of murder, and we know his other crimes to be the truth of the matter."

"Give him a chance to testify in his own defense my lord." the Maester pleaded "I beg of you, as a friend."

"As a friend?" asked the Lord, grabbing the chain which hung around the maester's waist "Or as a lover?"

The Maester flushed lightly, before briefly flashing scarlet in a slight burst of anger as he spoke "Is this how my Lord treats those he cares for? Making one choose between friendship and intimacy?"

"Not at all." said John, smiling "Most of my servants don't break vows of chastity."

"As is well my Lord." said the Maester, not missing a beat "Most are not worth the honor of doing so."

"This is most certainly so." said John "Few are as beautiful as you are."

"You would do well, if you wish to keep me, to hear my request." said Lucas, his eyes sultry as he spoke once more "It is merely a petition for Simon's appeal-"

"Groat-" said Lord Julius, emphasizing the formality "Has received his sentence in accordance with evidence."

"In accordance with the word of you, Rona, and Silvercheek." said Lucas "What of the Archmaester's of the Citadel? What of the great smiths of Oldtown? Why are we not using every resource-"

"-to absolve a man of a crime I've already pardoned him for?" asked the Lord "He has been charged and convicted of treason, thievery, and embezzlement."

"How has he committed treason, my Lord?" asked Lucas "How has he committed treasonous acts against your government? He never sought to kill you."

"Even so, he still betrayed his allegiance to the same. He still betrayed my trust and confidence and attempted to impair the wellbeing of the state and it's people. Perhaps the first of these definitions seems tyrannical; I would agree. I would also agree that even the betrayal of my trust and confidence is a small matter, for you have kept information from me as well, but that does not mean he has not committed the latter." said the Lord "He has intentionally, using the power of his influence gained through his position, inhibited the state and its ability to function, and he has foresworn his allegiance to not only myself but to my entire dynasty. He has said these things."

"Should you not arrest me as well?" asked the Maester, his eyes sad "Should you not arrest Rona? Have we not impaired the state?"

"You refer to the incident of Tyana of Crakehall and your recent lack of forewarning with regard to Simon's background." said the man "I have deferred judgment on the former, and forgiven the latter."

"Exactly." said Lucas "You are a good man; you are the man I gave up my vows for."

"Do you believe it was a sin?" asked John, his eyes softening as he spoke "Do you pray for forgiveness, when you think of it?"

"We pray to different Gods." said Lucas "But I would never confess to what I have done; not because it is a sin, but because-"

"I am not asking you what the Citadel told you, Lucas." said John "I'm asking you what you believe when you think upon me fucking you, telling you I want you as my lover, and then begrudgingly allowing you to continue on as my Maester as I grin on and on about the Septa's sermons on devotion to celibacy ."

"No." said Lucas "It wasn't a sin."

The Lord nodded, picking up his quill as he began to collect his thoughts. Using the quill knife, he began to dress the writing utensil as he ruminated on the argument put before him. It was the most odd combination of the ethos and logos; he was expected to give Groat a trial because he was a fair man, yet also to consider all of the evidence. It remained clear to him that the man had blatantly, callously, committed treason, thievery and embezzlement. All that remained to him was how to pacify this otherworldly being he had grown so close to. It was not all for the benefit of dark hair and darker eyes, however; in the back of his mind he pondered his lover's earlier words, before their liaison had begun.

" _Papers can be forged."_ Lucas had said. This was doubtlessly true, and these were the grounds under which John had imprisoned the bailiff. He had received, via his own testimony, the sentence of life imprisonment. His punishment would have certainly been death, if not for Lucas' own intervention. The fact therefore remained that Simon Groat should have been thanking the Gods he was still alive, not asking for an appeal of a reduced sentence.

Nonetheless the reality stood as it was. With a sigh, he inked his quill in the well, and pulled out a piece of vellum parchment as he began to write. He knew he would only be writing this once. Once he had finished, he set the quill down, nodded once to himself, opened his eyes, and looked at Lucas with a calm expression.

"Lucas." said the Lord in a calm tone "I cannot give him an appeal."

"My Lord-" Lucas began, only to be stopped by the hand of his Lord, who had signaled a pause.

"I cannot grant him his appeal because among other things, this is worse than the incident with Elyas of Oldtown." said John "I managed to calm that by lopping off some heads and making Elyas quietly go away. I would have to banish Groat, or kill him. Public or private it would not matter; there is no way this would go away, Lucas. He is not a boy that can be in the public eye seen as being taught a lesson. This is a man that must be shamed before he is accepted back into society."

"But why?" asked the Maester, his eyes pleading "What is the use of power if you must use it for cruelty?"

"He shall not suffer greatly." said the Lord "Yet I must grant him the punishment of thieves, if it shall not be that of traitors. "

Lucas nodded, closing his eyes "What shall his punishment be?"

"He shall be flogged first. Eight strikes with the cat, another with the switch, in the village square." John said "Then he shall concede four teeth, two from both the bottom and the top, in addition to forfeiting his monetary assets to the treasury. His physical assets shall be transferred to Long Rope pending his trial for treason."

Lucas nodded , his breathing deep "I thought you had said no to an appeal."

"I said no to a riot." said John , sighing "It is sad to state, but the fact is they shall kill him for his financial crimes before they shall hang him for treason, and shaming him before the trial shall humble him in their eyes."

"Shall he be released from prison?" Lucas asked "Following his shaming, will you let him go?"

"I see no reason why he can not leave his cell on occasion." said the Lord "But he shall remain under house arrest within the confines of the castle, or a cottage of my choosing where he shall be under guard."

Lucas closed his eyes; he knew he would get little else from his Lord, despite their relationship. Nonetheless, he sought to press for one last answer.

"My Lord?" he asked "Will you grant me one last request?"

"What is that, Lucas?" asked John

"Please, only one." said the Maester "Have Magistrate Albaster preside over his trial."

The Lord nodded once, kissing Lucas' cheek with tender affection. A few moment's later, there came a knock at the door.

"Come in." said Lord John "Be you with haste."

Ser Jocelyn entered, accompanied by Dame Serala of House Moreland and Edric Blacktyde, a hired sword of honorable repute. They carried with them their lord's decree, and Simon Groat in chains. His time in prison had lessened him to a shadow of his former glory; his face barely moved as he was gently shoved into the room, and his clothing looked to hold such filth that it was clear he had not bathed in a long period.

"Simon." John said, his voice holding an ice which would surely have frozen any of the Red Woman's flames. "Come in. We were just discussing your appeal. I have decided to show you leniency, on behalf of our kind Maester."

The man, once so high, began to fall gradually to the ground as he looked at his liege. Tears which would not allow themselves to fall stilled themselves in his eye ducks as they formed, and gradually cascaded like so many waterfalls down his cheeks. Slowly, he regained control of his breath; this sight, the slow disintegration of a being and their soul, was playing out before their eyes. The dried blood and scars on various places on his body seemed fresh now, and years of physical torture, however light, seemed to have renewed themselves from the strength of the emotional tour de force.

"Do rise, Simon." said John in a clear voice "I wish to begin your sentencing process."

Yet he need not have spoken; his guards seemed to have already divined his will, and had gradually begun to prop the defeated man up with the strength of their arms. The Maester looked on with a mixture of sadness, horror, and fear. He wondered what his Lord would do to the likes of the Mistress of Whisperers or even himself, if ever they fell out of his favor as Groat had. Once the bailiff had gotten up, his legs still weak and back hunched, Lucas decided it was better to never have to find out.

"My Lord" said Groat, bowing his head slightly "What sentence have you passed on me for my crimes against your enlightened governance and woeful committal of avarice?"

"It is good to know you are starting to get why you are here." said the Lord with a smile. "I have decided to show you a great deal of mercy, actually; you shall be forgiven of your wretched crimes….once you fulfill the sentence that I have described to our dear friend."

At this, John gestured to Lucas, who nodded solemnly as he unrolled the vellum scroll and read out the sentence in a crisp, formal tone. In a clear effort to maintain his own dignity, Simon Groat did nothing more than maintain his silence following the reading. His face was white and his eyes a tad wide, yet nothing more. With a nod, the Lord continued to write on another piece of parchment (sheepskin, this time) and looked on with little more than a business like demeanor. Every once in a while, however, he would glance with a look of tenderness at Lucas, only to receive clear prompting that a man's slow mental torture was not the time for flirtation.

"When shall my trial begin?" Groat finally asked "When shall I be set free…..or face death?"

"Not long after your shaming." said John, setting his quill down. "We shall allow a fortnight to elapse before the uproar that shall surely come with the trial. Believe it or not, I'm hoping you live-"

"Thank you, my Lord-" Groat began.

"Cease." said John, his cold demeanor ever present "I stated I hope you live; you shall most certainly cease to be my bailiff, whether you live here or six feet beneath the ground."

Simon seemed to be utterly baffled "But who shall replace me?"

"Alvn of Oldtown." said John "He is trustworthy. Reliable. I have sliced the diseased branches from his family tree, at least in the public eye. I shall have to make a secondary judgment on Elyas, I fear, but nothing more."

"And who shall replace him?" asked Groat, nearly sneering in contempt.

"One of the Red Priests of the temple of R'hllor." said the Lord "Or one of their faithful who happen to be my subject. There are a few now, I am told. Personally I have given up on Stannis as an asset, but we should likely send someone."

"You've given up on Lord Stannis?" Groat asked "Why?"

"Because while it is wise to keep as many pieces on our board as possible." John began. "It is not wise to invest in a man with no self control, no true restraint, who only has enough mental faculty to believe he has these things, who only gives lip service to equal protection for other religions while blatantly letting his mistress burn her way through their places of worship, and does so in the belief that THAT is the path to power, while neglecting his wife and child for a prolonged period of time and proclaiming that his adulterous affair, poor leadership, and lack of ability to connect with his family are the will of his god, when he admits to having one."

"But he is the most likely claimant to the throne-" Groat began once more, nearly gasping from the pain of his injuries.

"Robert's bastards are the most likely claimants to the damned throne." said John "Beginning with the at least two males we know of."

"But what of the Prince and Princess?" asked Groat "Have you forsaken them?"

"Not particularly." said the Lord "But I would like to make sure we all keep in mind we don't want another Targaryen on the throne. Specifically not a woman who honestly believes she's morally righteous."

"Then…." Groat said "Why send an envoy you do not intend to use?"

"Because like several players in the game, Melisandre believes she is smart when in reality she has only succeeded in fooling the witless." said John "Stannis was hopelessly easy prey, and shall follow her lead like it is an omen of his own ascent. I merely wish to watch as they both collapse beneath their poorly made designs."

"You have plotted this all along, haven't you?" asked the man with a shiver "You plan to hedge your bets."

"Don't be so crass, my friend." said the Lord "I am not a man with the mind of Petyr Baelish. As it stands, I lie firmly with the Lannister-Tyrell alliance. However, we must remember that the Princes and Princesses of Winterfell still live. Yet that is another matter; your shaming shall begin in not three days time."

Groat could tell the time for questions had ended; he was to be told nothing more but his next direct actions. With a nod, he closed his mouth and listened as his 'options' were laid out before him; would he like confession before a weir witch , Septa or red priest. He was then asked if he would like a glass of wine or arbor gold prior to his flogging. The following questions pertained to his place of residence, and his possible employment after the trial. Finally, he was asked his preferred manner of death; poison draught, hanging or a bucket of wine.

To his credit, Lord Julius did not mention the less savory options which could be handed down by the magistrate; among them were crucifixion, burning at the stake or beheading. Yet from the look in his former friends eyes, he knew that he could see the veiled threat of these punishments within his words. He saw vision's, clear as day within his minds eye, of Groat being crucified with nails of fine silver. Above that, in the mix of bastardized valayrian and common tongue which made his birth place, would read _here lies the traitor_.

"You may go." said John in a voice that rang of authority "Lucas, you shall stay."

Groat nodded, his pace helped by his escort. Once he had gone, the room was filled with a pregnant pause of silence. Yet soon, John sighed with relief, pulling out a dagger made of black iron. It was clear he needed release, and there would be no delay.

"Lucas, come here." said the raven haired Lord "Please."

Lucas nodded, walking over to him with steps of such grace that they would have put the Queen to shame. He held him then, and kissed him with such ferocity that it caused the other man's lips to bleed lightly. Then there was not but whispered words and heated touch, blade tangled with chain as each fought for surrender. With a look of apprehension, the Maester used his left hand to stay the blade before it could do more.

"John…" Lucas began in a breathless tone, for once ending his use of his liege's formal title. "We can't."

"Who states we cannot?" asked the Lord "Your gods?"

"My conscious." said Lucas "And yes, the Gods as well."

"Your Gods." said John, nipping the man's neck to create a tender ache "How sweetly they might burn, being only statues."

"I did not take you for a red heretic, my love." said Lucas, near ecstasy "Woe that we would not send you to Dragonstone instead of-"

"I am a follower of the Old Gods." said John in a sensuous whisper "And I would be pleased to convert you, sweet Lucas."

"How do you plan on doing that, my Lord?" asked Lucas, biting his lip "You have always demanded public adherence, but it has always been understood that inside the home-"

"I plan to make love to you, shorn and disrobed, before the eyes of the Old Gods." said John, his eyes blown with lust. "I plan to take you in our natural state, as the Gods made us."

"My Lord, have you lost your faculties?" he asked "To do so would be sacrilege, before the Gods old and new, and anyone-"

"Could see?" he asked "You worry of Lady Ami? You worry of Rona? Her little spies? You worry of the Weir folk and Gammer Wilde?"

"Yes." Lucas breathed "It would be adultery….and a sin so deep it would never be cleansed."

"Lucas." John said "I have already committed adultery and sexual relations outside of the bounds of my marriage. I have already slept with you. You have no vows to keep at this point-"

"The fact that we have already sinned against our Gods does not mean we should indulge more." said Lucas "A single death does not justify a massacre."

"Is it not better to live in sin than to die an unhappy man?" he asked "I have sought dissolution for my marriage. I have prayed for forgiveness."

"Does this look like repentance to you?" Lucas asked, gesturing to their posture "You sought dissolution so that you might discard a distant and uncaring wife; do not act as though I am an option for you, John Julius."

"You are not an option because you deny yourself the chance to be one." said John "Homosexuality, even marriage between men, was not illegal in the old days. It is not illegal under the Old Gods-"

"So we would have here, perhaps Tol and several scattered holdings within the South." said Lucas "And then the North and beyond the wall; those are all that would support our marriage, John. Your people would only support it because you're in it. I would be rendered an outcast within the Faith. I would be shamed, and possibly scourged worse than any common whore for our sin."

"Why would you not convert?" John asked "For me, why would you not convert?"

"Why will those men who love men or those women who love women not convert to your faith, John?" Lucas asked "We are raised in a certain faith, and we die in that faith."

"I suppose all of those conversions to the Red demon and the Old Gods are just myth, then." said John with a smile "Or awful rumors."

"I do not doubt Samwell Tarly's conversion." Lucas said "But I cannot believe that someone who thought their only other choice was death would choose that over a false prophet who claimed flame as their champion."

"I agree." said John "Though I do not besmirch those who genuinely believe, such as Alvyn."

"Nor I." said Lucas "Good night, John; I'll see you at the trial."

"Good night, Lucas." said John softly as he got up and began to pull away from the young Maester. Once he had redressed himself, Lucas stumbled toward the door, and smiled fondly at his Lord. With a meaningful look, the Lord signaled for him to stay.

"Lucas?" the Lord asked "May I ask a question? Just one?"

The Maester, shocked at the tone of utter affection with which he was being addressed, answered softly, and with a dry throat. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Would you marry me?" John asked. "If I got an annulment from Ami…..would you marry me?"

Lucas paused, attempting to breath. "Yes, John. Yes I would marry you."

The Lord nodded, dismissing him with a kind wave and a gentle nod. In his eyes, there seemed to be a flicker of love and deepened affection. Lucas smiled lightly in return, opened the door, and closed it gently. At his desk, John smiled as he continued his work; there would be time for more later. They would have all the time in the world.

After all, they would have a trial to attend.


	2. Chapter 2: The Sins of Simon Groat

The Trial of Simon Groat

 _The year 299, the day one hundred and ninety three after Aegon's Conquest (A.C), the Village Square of Fortitudo Simplicis._

The crows flew over head as they passed; four guards, Ser Hugo at the lead, carried the accused towards the 'Our Lady Maria' Septry, which had been named in honor of the Lord's deceased wife, the former Lady Lefford. It was often said among the members of the begging brothers and common Septon's and Septa's that it was her influence, or rather the ghost of it, which saved them still from utter annihilation. Now the Sept would be used as a court to convict Simon Groat in a trial by Com purgation. Following his shaming few still doubted that he was guilty. Nonetheless, feelings were divided; A significant number felt that he had betrayed his position, and that he who had felt so high above them should have been made to feel the full brunt of his crimes. A small, though not diminished plurality felt that he had paid his debt to society, and preferred banishment to death. Then, of course, there were those who favored neither option, and wished to let justice take its course; they would be the true judges of that day.

The front room, stripped of all of its usual idolatry and laid bare of surface with the exception of the importation of wooded seating and bench 's from which witness, accused, magistrate, and jury would preside, looked rather opaque when one thought of its usual opulence. On the right side stood a congregation of witnesses; on the left side stood his Lord and the Septa, who had been given permission to hear his confession prior to trial. In addition to that, several members of society had been selected for a sort of jury to hear his case; these members were from the neither or group, and thus were small in number. By the count of the Magistrate, they ranged in only a dozen or so individuals, dwarfed by the sheer volume of people who had shown up to testify.

Commoners and officials of the government; the farmer and the assistant to the Bailiff, the merchant and the maid, it did not seem to matter. Anyone he had ever crossed had shown up to give him his comeuppance. To him it no longer mattered; there was little more they could do to him that they had not already done. As it stood he would never retrieve his financial assets, nor would he be truly out of debt, and was now (even assuming he left prison) in no better shape than the common serf. His body was broken beyond repair, and he had suffered humiliation in the eyes of the general population; the shaming itself had been a somewhat brutal display in which he had bled so severely it felt as though a river of blood was cascading down his backside, and the sheer pain of it combined with the recent loss of four molars and weeks of torture had broken his façade of emotional aloofness, forcing him to shed multiple tears in front of the local small folk he had so despised.

Nodding respectfully to the Magistrate, Groat got down on both knees, and began to pray to the Father, the Crone, and the Stranger for guidance and preservation. Once he was done, he rose and received his blessing from Septa Eleanor before bowing once to his Lord. With a heavy heart, he went and took a seat. Then, a quiet settled over the room as the trial began to take shape.

"Simon Groat of Oldtown." said Magistrate Alabaster "You are accused of treason. How do you plead?"

"I plead not guilty, your most worshipful justice." said Groat "I have never impaired the state, nor foresworn allegiance against my Lord."

The Magistrate nodded, waving a hand at the assembled witnesses. Immediately, one came forward; Elyas of Oldtown.

"Please state your name and your past history." said the Magistrate "In full detail."

"My name is Elyas, son of Alvyn. I came from Oldtown upon my fathers employ." said Elyas "I am a former price and weights fixer."

"Price and….weights fixer?" the Magistrate asked "Elaborate."

"I instituted the use of false weights to fix prices, and essentially raise taxes some years ago." said Elyas "My trial was rather private."

"I see." said the Magistrate "What was your punishment?"

"I made to be in the service of Mr. Groat" said Elyas. "I work under him in a nearby town."

"Helpful." Alabaster commented idly "To your knowledge….what has been the trend of his contribution versus his withdrawal's within the last period of service?"

"I would state there have been more withdrawals than contributions, your worshipful justice." said the boy "We have had to use several techniques to make ends meet."

"Techniques?" he asked "Such as?"

"Foreclosing on bad business." Elyas said "Raising taxes. Raising the price of grain and other foodstuffs."

"I see." said the Magistrate "In your opinion would that impair the state?"

"If these measures were needed for defense, or to provide more adequate service for the general populace, no." said Elyas "As it is, from a person with economic experience, I see no reason to run near debt when one doesn't need to. Foreclosing on shops likely hurt the village, and compounded with raised prices it likely had a negative impact on their ability to properly sustain their standard of living and care for themselves."

"Yes, but the state." said the Magistrate "How has he harmed the state?"

"A near constant shortage of funds, though not a deficit, caused a lack of supply in most area's." said Elyas "The military, spy network, and skeleton staff were fine but we no longer had the money to pay for repairs, maintain essential functions, and so on. Put simply; it takes money to run a government, your worshipful justice. We no longer had the money, and this caused us to have to make several emergency plans which would have been unnecessary had those resources been left available."

Alabaster nodded "Thank you, you are dismissed."

Elyas nodded in return and proceeded to leave the witness stand. The person who was called next was Silvercheek, who came and sat down with a neutral expression.

"Mr. Silvercheek." Magistrate Alabaster began "Can you tell us more of this man known as Simon Groat?"

"I can only tell you my personal work, ser." said Silver cheek "If you wish for me to account for that I may."

"Very well." said the Magistrate "You may."

"He is the one who owned the blade which was used in the attack on his Lordship." said Silver cheek "Though I know that has been set aside for now."

"You're certain it was him?" asked the Magistrate "None at all?"

"I would bet my soul on it, Ser." said Silver cheek "I have been smithing since I was a boy; all of my siblings have."

"Thank you." said the Magistrate "One more question before you go."

Silver cheek nodded "Yes, Ser?"

"According to the record provided to this court, you were named by accused, along with a Miss Rona Grey , of conspiring to murder Lord Julius. Is this true?" asked the Magistrate.

"Yes it is, Ser." said Silver cheek "My Lord, seeing the falsehood in his words, had him detained."

"Do you still deny those charges?" asked the Magistrate "Do you still affirm your findings, upon penalty of imprisonment on the charge of treason?"

"Yes I do, Ser." said Silver cheek "Simon Groat was the owner of the knife that was used in the attempted murder of our Lord. I can attest to that."

"You may leave the stand." said the Magistrate "Please send up Miss Grey."

Silver cheek nodded, exiting the witness area. A few moments later, Rona Grey entered in utter silence and a flash of purple lace. Her demeanor was not unkind; yet Groat still kept a blank face for the events that were to come. He knew they would not be good.

"Your name, Miss?" asked the Magistrate "And your relationship with regards to the accused?"

"Rona Grey." said the woman with a slight smile "He is a colleague of mine on our Lord's council. He serves as the Bailiff and I the mistress of secrets."

The magistrate nodded "Do you believe he committed the act he accused you and Mr. Silver cheek of?"

"I wouldn't have put it past his particular personality; he is the type, I shall tell you that." said Rona "However, he has been absolved by our Lord, and if the person whom he may or may not have attempted to murder has forgiven him, I shall not be the one to judge him."

"Excuse me." said Groat, visibly angered "Which am I accused of? Treason or murder?"

"Treason." said the Magistrate "However, we're establishing a mind set here, it would seem. You don't appear to exercise your power wisely, Mr. Groat. Continue on, Miss Grey."

"Yes, I would say he most certainly doesn't." said Rona "I had Lady Jayne's maid detained for treasonous activities; however, Mr. Groat wanted her flogged for merely stealing his food."

"That most certainly sounds like an abuse of power." said the Magistrate "tell us more; what did his Lordship do in response?"

"He had her let go, of course." said Rona "She had done nothing wrong. However, Mr. Groat gave this sort of warning to his Lordship; he stated that he would be keeping an eye on her. A very close eye, and then he just started glaring at him."

Several of the small folk gasped, and one woman near Groat visibly attempted to spit at him before being restrained by Sarala Moreland.

"What else has he done?" asked the Magistrate "Can you recall?"

"He….wanted us to make a deal with that horrid Lord Cley." said Rona, beginning to shed tears so convincing that only her closest friends (Lord Julius and Lucas) would have known she was faking the act "To give him hush money….and make it all go away."

"What was the other option?" asked the Magistrate "Was there another option?"

"Yes." said Rona "We could have held him accountable; we could had a trial."

"What prevented this trial?" asked the Magistrate "What in the name of the Gods, old and new, prevented this trial?"

"Simon Groat prevented this trial." said Rona, recovering from her fit of tears "He believed it best. His mistress, Kyra, had been murdered by Lord Cley. He wanted him to go his way so that the holding could profit from Lord Cley's dealings. Our Lord trusted his judgment as his bailiff."

"I understand, mistress." said the Magistrate "We have all been misled by this snake."

Rona nodded, regaining her composure as she looked back at the crowd of people assembled in the room. To them, she looked the picture of a woman who had broken down after revealing a scandalous affair; she hadn't even revealed Lord Cley was dead yet. In his seat, Lord Julius smiled with narrowed lips, while Lucas frowned deeply in a sign of worry.

"What else happened?" asked the Magistrate "Has he abused his power in any other way?"

"Yes." said Rona "He had Lord Cley murdered once the deal was complete. He also had Alvn of Oldtown imprisoned."

"M…Murder?" asked the Magistrate "He had Lord Cley murdered? But I thought he wanted the deal to go through."

"Yes. He did." said Rona " Like Ned Stark, he believed that piece of paper would be his shield."

"And….why did he have Alvyn of Oldtown imprisoned?" asked the Magistrate.

"Because in Groat's view, he was violating our Lord's anti heresy laws." said Rona "However, he wasn't; Alvyn only prayed in select, authorized prayer temples and at his home. He never, to my knowledge, expressed his faith in public."

"Thank you, Miss Grey." said the Magistrate "Thank you. You are dismissed."

Rona nodded, leaving the stand. The Magistrate, visibly shaken, shuffled his papers around before looking to the jury. For a moment, it looked as though he was wondering if asking for a vote was even necessary. Nonetheless, he pulled out a scroll and began to read aloud.

"There are two charges." said the Magistrate "Both related to treason. One is impairment by reason of self enrichment, the other by reason of abuse of power. What is the verdict of the jury?"

A woman, pinch faced and plain, stood up and read a plain piece of parchment. She looked ragged but not too poor; she might have been from the middle class of the village.

"We find the defendant guilty of both counts." said the woman "Our recommendation is execution."

The magistrate nodded, looking to his Lordship. Finally having regained his proper smile, Lord Julius stood up and walked over to the bench, producing a vellum scroll. He then handed it to the Magistrate, nodding to him and then the jury.

Alabaster coughed lightly and then read out the ruling "His Lordship believes that execution would be too lenient a sentence for the crimes committed by the accused; instead he shall live in service to the holding and it's people, never to leave the confines of it's borders, for a period of fifty years. Though he shall not be considered a thrall, he shall in effect serve the same purpose for the people of Fortitudo Simplicis, and his Lordship when he shall be of need. He shall be confined in sleeping hours to the castle or his cottage, and the same shall be true during the day when his not at work. It is so ordered."

Smiling, Lord Julius departed the room, followed by a visibly saddened Lucas. Following that display, most of the small folk piled out of the court, and the Magistrate picked up his parchment and left. Once it was all over, only Groat and Rona were left. The woman seemed to almost be smiling.

"Rona….why?" asked Groat "Why did you convict me so?"

"I did nothing, Simon." said Rona "You have done it all yourself; I just let it catch up with you. You believed yourself all powerful. More powerful than me, more powerful than our lord. You were mistaken."

"But I have only sought to advise him-" began Groat.

"What advice have you given him that I could not, and with less spite and self grandeur?" asked Rona "What advice have you ever given that was not filled with avarice?"

Simon paused, looking at her with an almost dumbfounded expression. In response, the Mistress of Whisperers merely smiled as though she knew all of his thoughts, and seemed to nod at thin air. Moments later, a dagger was against his neck, and a dark skinned woman seemed to be breathing, literally, down his throat.

"Now now, Gysella." said Rona "We don't want him dead yet."

Groat gasped, kneeling to the ground for the second time that day. Blood seeped down his throat in droplets where the blade had made it's incision. Slowly, his breathing seemed to quicken as he realized he was obtaining ever less of that crucial substance known as oxygen.

"Yes, Simon." said Rona in a whisper "I can kill you. Because you're a liability."

"…How?" Groat asked, gasping for breath "What have I done?"

You don't even seem to understand, do you Simon?" asked Rona with smile "Not to worry; I won't kill you yet. Lord Julius has decided to give you one more chance."

"What will I do?" asked Groat "What. Will. I. Do?!"

"Your time for questioning has passed." said Rona "Now, obey; sleep."

Slowly the darkness overcame him (the effect of some poison, no doubt) and the last images he saw were of the twin sights of Rona Grey and the looming figure of Gysella Varner.


	3. A lover's Requiem

_The year 299, the day two hundred and forty eight after Aegon's Conquest (A.C); the cottage of Ebben, Lord Swygert._

The once noble Lord and underling of King Renly I sat in sad decline, reposed as he was in his chair; beside him, a woman of beauty and cold determination stared with utter vigor at her charges emotional duress. For all that she had spent the last several minutes berating him, one would have thought the topic of the meeting was him. Instead, it was not long before her smile and gentle eyes overtook the young Lord, and he caught only a glimpes of the massive knight who had entered his cottage.

"It is best that he come quietly; he is already suspected of another murder." said the dark haired woman. Her eyes seemed to be for the Knight alone in that moment; they seemed to pierce him through his armor, in a way that no arrow could. Once the knight, Haegon Longwaters, had made his way toward the room down the hall, the dark skinned beauty turned her eyes back on the exiled Storm Lord.

"Let it not trouble you, my Lord." said the woman "Let it be known that my mistress thanks you for your services as Lord Constable in charge of the traitor formerly known as Simon Groat."

With little else to do, the Lord of summer merely nodded in acceptance as a chest of gold was placed before him by a young blond named Geremy. His House had not been mentioned. He barely had time to glance at the kind face of Tanda Flowers, his loaned maid, before the woman and her company were out the door; it seemed that the old man had been finally pacificed with a knock to the forehead. Struggling through his drowsiness, Lord Ebben mumbled a goodbye as the vuluptuous Tanda did her work making him tea.

 _The year 299, the day two hundred and fifty two after Aegon's Conquest (A.C); the dungeon of John, Lord Julius._

The previously bedridden man could barely stir from his slumber as he attempted to open his increasingly weighted eyes; around him was a room was only aided on quantity by the metal bars at its entrance. Once he had adjusted his eyes, he could see that there was a man of considerable height outside of cell; he appeared to have slightly unkempt hair, and a long robe of Essosi fashion. His left hand held a torch; his right hand held a set of jailers keys. Beside him stood a woman who seemed so utterly shrouded in darkness that it would have been enough to fill even the nightmares of the King across the Narrow Sea. It was safe to say if the torchlight had not shown her hair, he would have taken her for a demon.

"Hello, Groat." said the woman. Her hair seemed to be the color of a dead tree; her clothes seemed to be the color of a blackened rain cloud. "My Lord has need of you."

The woman, her robes as black as a raven's feather, reached down and placed the bowl of water before him. For several moments, there was only the sound of slurping as the man sought to regain his lost strength. It was clear that hard labor and dehydration had not been kind on him.

"What is your name, Lady?" asked the man formerly known as Groat.

"Esthis." said the woman with a smile "This is my acquitance, Lerris Slait."

The man nodded simply before drinking a tad more of the water.

"Our Lord has sought to give you a final chance, dear ser." said the Lady "Now. Please get up."

With a groan, the man known as Groat was assisted by Ser Braddock Selle in his ascent from the dungeon floor. The clanking of the lock which signaled the release of the chain's did not seem to do anything more than deepen his imprisonment. His eyes seemed ever motionless as the woman, her garments of unknown origin, led him gently down the hallways of the dungeon.

"Today is a most sad day, good ser." said the woman, her face not matching the innate tranquility which seemed to reverberate throughout her tone "A member of His Grace's watch has been slain on his way to our land."

"Do you believe I care, lady?" he asked "Does it look like I have had the time to eat, much less care about a snob in a golden cloak?"

"You should care very much, ser." said the Esthis "Ser Byrron Ryser was a lovely person, who was deeply cherished-"

"-he liked to beat little girls as a young man." said Groat "He also routinely liked to fondle the boys who served the Septry; with the kind permission of Septon Darryn, if I might add. Quit your act, woman."

"- by the small folk" said the lady, seemingly undeterred by Groat's minor rant; it seemed as though she had not even heard him.

"You are a strumpet." said the former Bailiff, his eyes glaring at the woman. For her part, the Lady of Lorath merely smiled.

"At the very least I have not been convicted of crimes against the Gods and men, Mr. Groat." said Esthis, her slender fingers touching his cheek ever lightly "If I were you, I would pray to whatever deity would still have you, ser; perhaps the Hooded wayfarer. It is said that he views us all as one flock, after all, and he is welcomed often by the poor and downtrodden."

"Save your foreign faiths for the old merchant." said Groat, his voice cold as he looked at her with piercing eyes "I am no heretic."

"You are certainly no man of faith." said the woman, her smile ever present "Let us not keep our Lord waiting."

With a brusk hand on his shoulder, the Knight of Fair Isle pushed him ever forward.

 _The year 299, the day two hundred and fifty two after Aegon's Conquest (A.C); the audience chamber of John, Lord Julius._

The throne room of the Lord Protector of the Whiteshire Sept sat in noted darkness that day; it appeared that, for effect or rhyme of unknown reason, he had ordered the torches extinguished. The lone exception stood at his side; the tall Essosi who took the form of Lerris Slait. Yet despite the cold and dark demeanor of the room itself, the former con man and convicted criminal could not help but notice that he was the only one present who seemed to be affected by the sudden change in atmosphere.

Perhaps, then, it had come down to a wish for further punishment.

"Dearest Groat." said John, his eyes as cold as the Narrow Sea "It is so wonderful you could come here and join us."

"I do aim to please you, my Lord." said Groat. He seemed a pathetic creature then; his back deformed from months of hard labor and his joints and teeth visibly harmed from torture.

"I do know that well." said John, his smile having returned "That is why I have a quest for you to undertake, dear friend."

"Anything, my Lord." Groat gasped; his eyes were closed then, for want of a way to stop the oncoming tears of desperation. It was clear to those in room, then, that their Lord could be just as cruel as any Bolton or Lannister when he had the wish to be.

"We shall see how you fare, then." said the Lord consort of Tol "Come forward, my noble captain."

A man of Myrish look came out from the shadows; within the light of the torch, he clearly appeared to be of the seafaring profession.

"Mr. Erem." said the Lord "I do thank you for coming on such short notice; I trust your ship shall be ready to depart from Lannisport."

"Yes, my Lord." said the Captain, Ailaka Erem "We shall be in Tarth in not four weeks time."

"Good; do be quick." said the other man "Bring the chest with you to Tarth. Alvyn has insisted most urgently that it would be secure there."

"It shall be, my Lord." said the Captain, before pointing to the former Bailiff "What task do you have for the convict?"

"He is meant to ensure no harm comes to it." said the Lord of Fortitudo Simplicis "It should not be that hard. Tell them only that we do not know the origin of the text."

The captain of the Swyftwynd gave a nod, then, and allowed the convicted felon to be dragged along with him on the long walk towards Lannisport; out of hospitality, the Lord of the manor had provided the captain with a steed with which to travel. It had been made clear, however, that the former coin purveyor would recieve no such kindness.

As the walk commenced, Groat could take comfort only in the fact that he had the lone comfort of the strong and able Ser Stuar Sunderland beside him. He knew that though the knight was meant to be yet another jailor to reinforce his prison, he would not allow the small folk to throw spoiled produce or pieces of feces at him as they had during his shaming before the date of his trial. Yet in the end it was a small comfort; for the aid of a knight as a guard could not stop passing women, their husbands and even children from glaring at him and attempting to spit on him.

The walk went on for over half a week; it is likely they would have gotten there in a shorter amount of time if not for the fact that Groat's body was simply too damaged to allow him to walk any faster than he already was at that point. All the while he felt that if it was within their power to do so, the small folk would have killed him. He knew once he felt the safety of Lannisport that it had been only the secure blade of Ser Stuar that had saved his life.

 _The year 299, the day two hundred and eighty four after Aegon's Conquest (A.C); the audience chamber of John, Lord Julius._

The man known as Groat had not arrived in his Lord's abode in the best of circumstances; it was not, after all, the usual fare to be dragged in chains by a gang of former pirates, led by Norvosi slaver and warlord into the hall of ones leige and accompanied by a woman from Lorath who had been forced to pay for his freedom following his recapture by that same warlord. Nonetheless, here he was; once again in rags and with one less tome to speak of, watching as the opaque Ayenna of Lorath spoke to her lord in a language that he could not quite understand while the Lady Esthis translated for parts their Lord had trouble with.

"I see." said John finally "It seems you fail at the most simple of tasks, dear Groat."

"My Lord, it is not what you think." Groat exclaimed "We were attacked; seized upon by horrid pirtates. We barely escaped with our lives."

"Yet the book is gone." said the Lord Regent of Hawkhaven "Is it not? You would be a slave, if not for the efforts of my sworn agents in the field."

"Not so, my lord." said Groat, his chest puffed out in that moment "I paid my own way-"

"And then proceeded to get stuck in the Lorath, once it was discovered that you were a foreigner within Lorathi territory, entering without permission." said the Lord with a grip of iron "Let us not forget that you colluded with slavers in violation of Westerosi law; you would be liable for execution right now if not for the efforts of Ms. Grey and her associates. She has just returned from the Capitol; Her Grace, the Queen Regent was most displeased by the situation. Nonetheless, she has agreed in her wisdom to allow me to dispense justice upon you."

Groat seemed truly shamed by then; it was clear he had not meant for things to fall so far out of hand.

"We cannot even prosecute this villain for his crimes against Westeros." said John, pointing to the previously kidnapped Ferrus-azd-Osartha "Neither I nor Her Grace shall willfully commit to an act of war against a trade partner during a time of civil strife. Specifically not when it was you and your failure that caused this entire catastrophe in the first place."

"There is positivity to be found within our plight, my Lord." said Esthis "The rogue captain, Constanz, has been slain."

"Simply wonderful news, Esthis." said the Western Lord "Can his death replace the demise of Ser Braddock? The woeful tears of Ser Stuar's widow?"

"Well, no my Lord." said Esthis with a smile "But surely it cannot further harm us."

"Oh." said the Lord with a sarcastic tone "How lovely to think on; if only everyone on this isle had your outlook, dear Esthis. Do go and tell Lord Stannis and the remnants of the Northern Army that they need not feel dreary; after all, by your logic they haven't actually lost anything. The King across the Narrow Sea, as they call him, has only lost most of his army; but by your rationale he's really inundated himself from further harm."

"Well, my Lord...he has used his pawns to weasel out the catch of wildfire." said the Esthis "It is doubtful the Lannisters shall commit such an act against him again."

"You haven't the faintest notion of where you are or what you're talking about, do you?" asked the former Lord consort of Oldstones "That city is filled with wildfire. Aery's compiled such a vast supply it is not entirely impossible that they could burn the entire isle black if they wished to."

The normally serene woman seemed to lose her smile, then. Yet the Lord did not look upon her anymore than he had to; in that moment, he had eyes only for the man who had failed so utterly.

"You are a wretched creature." said John, his eyes barrowing into Groat's soul "To fail at such a simple task, and to lose that which cost a man's life. Perhaps you are not fit for life."

"My Lord!" Groat pled, his eyes closed as he crouched down on his hand and knees "Please do not..."

"Silence, you pathetic twit." the raven haird man thundered "As it happens, Lucas has already interceded once more on your behalf. You should pray to him rather than whatever seven shits you've been praying to, you little moron."

It was then that Groat could hear the faintest clink of chains on the eastern side of the room. A moment later, his darkened vision could spot the young maester and Justiciar, Lucas of Oldtown. He seemed to be dressed in a shade of a darker green robe that the Bailiff did not recall any Maester ever wearing before.

"My Lord." said Lucas, waiting as the amble Julienna Mollen, former lady of the bedchamber for Lady Marianne during her time as Lady of the manor, set out to light a torch to aid the young man's vision. "You have summoned me?"

"Lucas." the Lord said in greeting. The word alone held so many implications; it was clear to all present that Lady Ami was but a seat warmer for the true occupant of the throne which sat beside their Lord "Please come in."

The young man smiled then; it was not every day that a Lord of not inconsiderable power asked rather than commanded one to enter a room. The young maester proceeded to kneel in loving supplication beneath the throne of Lord Julius. It made quite a sight, for what could be seen; a man of forty, strong and powerful atop his throne of silver, staring with clear affection at a younger man who looked for all the world to be in utter submission to him. Whether that was merely out of obligation was something only the two of them could answer.

The man's eyes softened briefly as he looked upon the young maester. Then they seemed to grow cold once more as he looked at the convict a short distance away.

"As I way saying, Groat." the Lord said "You shall suffer for this. Yet I shall be as lenient as I shall deem appropriate; I have agreed to shave off some thirty five years of your time, on account of your enslavement by the Essosi. However, you shall spend those remaining five years doing hard labor."

Groat did not saying any words; he knew that he could not have expected any better treatment, given how he had mismanaged the quest he was given.

"Furthermore, there shall be a change to your arrangements." said John "You shall be put into the service of Ivory Bay, Tol, and the Lady Marriane at Oldstones."

"But my Lord, I already render my services to them." said the man, spitting it out before he could stop himself.

"My spies have made me aware, you little rat." said the Lord with a smile "Yet now you won't be a double agent, acting as an advisor; you'll be a mule tilling their land."

The man nodded, his eyes closed. Then the meeting seemed to be over all at once; there was a series of sensations as he was all but carried by broad shoulders and strong arms to an unknown location. The last thing he remembered through his exhaustion was the Lord's voice.

"Oh, and Groat? You'll be walking there."


End file.
